


I collect your scales but you don't have to know

by heavenisalibrary



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9896636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: “I thought you were my friend!” River protested when she woke up the next morning, hungover on the Ponds’ couch while Amy waved the contract in front of her face. “But no, you were producing.”“It’s my job, moron,” she said. “I can’t help it that my best friend in the whole wide world would make smashing television. That’s on you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really bizarre AU where Amy and Clara are producers for a reality TV show wherein couples are stranded in the woods with limited supplies. Unable to find a suitably entertaining real couple to round out their cast, they each rope a friend into it — obvi River and the Doctor. Ahem.

It’ll be fun, Amy said. You’ll have a great time, Amy said. You’re on sabbatical anyway, Amy said. It’ll make a great story at parties.

River wouldn’t have been susceptible to any of these flimsy little reasons if she hadn’t been half way through her second bottle of wine on Amy’s patio, half-drunk, and pleased with the knowledge that Rory was pulling a no-longer-frozen pizza out of the oven that would go perfectly with the red wine she was swimming in. 

As it had stood at that moment, however, she’d rolled her eyes and agreed. She hadn’t expected Amy to pull out a contract and have her sign it right there and then. Even drunk, she probably wouldn’t’ve agreed if she’d known Amy would make it blinding. 

“I thought you were my friend!” River protested when she woke up the next morning, hungover on the Ponds’ couch while Amy waved the contract in front of her face. “But _no_ , you were _producing_.”

“It’s my job, moron,” she said. “I can’t help it that my best friend in the whole wide world would make smashing television. That’s on you.”

So that’s how River ends up on set, three months later, somewhat angrily making herself a shitty cup of coffee at the shitty table of pre-packaged breakfast items before retiring to the fold-out table in the middle of the room and flopping down in the shitty metal chair, waiting for her _partner_. 

That, of course, had been conveniently left out of Amy’s pitch. She figured that if Amy had told her as much, even blind drunk she would’ve refused. River Song preferred to work alone in just about every facet of her life, and Amy well knew it. Which, River noted with a deeper frown, was probably why she hadn’t mentioned that she hadn’t mentioned that not only had she conned River into agreeing to appear on a reality show where she’d be dropped in some woodsy wilderness rigged with cameras and microphones to record her every move as she tried to survive, but that she’d be dropped there with a _partner_ . That had left her steamed enough leading up to today — the day when she’d be introduced to her partner — but when she’d arrived a few minutes earlier, only to have Amy tell her that on top of all that, they’d be competing against _other_ couples to see who would survive best, or whatever. Couples. Not partnered pairs. 

“Not that you’ll be a partnered pair either,” Amy had said as she pushed River into the green room. “You’re going to have to pretend to be a couple. We tried to get another real couple, but we couldn’t find any that popped, and when we decided to make a fake couple to create, I don’t know, more drama, and I suggested you, I knew immediately who I’d pair you with. You’ll get along so well, River, believe me, and you’ll probably win. As long as you can pretend to be a couple. You know, hand holding, pet names, the whole thing. Really have to sell that, River. Alright, in you go.”

And she’d locked the door behind River before she could even protest. So there she sits, waiting to meet her fake bloody boyfriend before they’re whisked away on an airplane to an undisclosed location to participate in a reality television show. She hates Amy, so, so much, and the moment she’s out of contract, Amy’s going to pay. Rory’s going to pay, too, for the lulling-you-into-a-false-sense-of-security pizza. And for having such a heavy pouring hand.

She’s busy plotting her revenge when the doorknob jiggles, and she looks up instantly, eyes narrowed. The door flies open, and a tall, gangly man stumbles in over his own feet before righting himself and tugging on a ridiculous bowtie and shaking out the sleeves of his tweed blazer.

She’s going to  _kill_ Amy.

 

 

He tosses a lock of floppy, dark hair out of his face before stepping fully into the room. He glances at her, and must spot her glare, because he steps back slightly and seems to hesitate about staying in the room, but before he can decide himself, River sees Amy pop into the door way with a wink, grab the knob, and slam it shut. The lock clicks behind her.

“Erm, hello,” he says. 

“Tell me you’re a producer,” River says. “Tell me you’re in casting.” 

“I don’t think I could possibly be both,” he says. “And regardless, I’m neither. I’m —”

“ _You_ ,” River says, setting her coffee down and standing up to walk nearer to him, eying him up and down. “Cannot _possibly_ be my partner. This is a show about surviving in the wilderness. I’m not even sure you’d survive a rainforest mural.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, standing up straighter and frowning at her, “I’m perfectly capable, thanks ever so. Anyway, where do you get off insulting me? What’re you going to do out there without hair product, hm? Won’t your head combust?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“It’s all —” he cuts himself off, puffing out his cheeks and gesturing absurdly over his head. She’d laugh, if she wasn’t irate. “If we get chased by some wild animal, I’m not going to stop to help you if your head gets caught in the underbrush.”

“How would it get caught in the underbrush? Am I running on my hands, in this scenario?”

“Dunno,” he says, “you look quite mad. Not sure what you’ll do.”

 “Between you and I,” River says, stepping closer to him and drawing herself up to her full height — which still isn’t, annoyingly, nearly his, but she puts on her best intimidating face, and takes great pleasure in watching him quail slightly, stepping back toward the door, “I’m not really sure what I’m going to do, either, so tread carefully, sweetie.”

“I’m not your sweetie,” he says, poking a finger gently at her chest. When she glances down at his hand with a raised brow, he draws it back quickly, as if burned.

 “Unfortunately,” River says, sighing, “according to the producers, you _are_ . What’s your name, _sweetie?_ ”

 “I’m the Doctor,” he says.

 Honestly, Amy is just absolutely fucking done for after this.

  
  


They have to do a few screen tests, which mostly consists of sitting at a table in front of a camera while Amy and her co-producer Clara ask them questions, and then grin maniacally at one another as River and the Doctor bicker for ten minutes until one of the producers butts in with another question. Despite the fact that Amy’s gratingly thrilled with their ‘chemistry’ as she says in her smug producer’s voice, River thinks the whole thing’s going to be an objective failure, because there’s an increasingly high likelihood that River’s just going to sharpen a stick and stab him in his sleep if he remains an insufferable know-it-all throughout the entire month they’re stuck out there.

Clara makes them spend time with one another so they build a rapport, which is annoyingly like being babysat by the tiny, precocious producer as they ask one another dull interview-slash-first-date type questions, egged on by Clara. At the very least, River gets a number of meals on Clara’s company card. They’re even forced to spend some time alone together, and they take a road trip from Los Angeles where they’re staying up to Santa Barbara, but they don’t even make it halfway there because they get in a fight about who’s driving, and when he miraculously out talks her in their battle of wits, she’s so annoyed that when he stops for a restroom, she reaches under the hood of his car to sabotage it. They break down, a few miles later, and River hitchhikes back to LA, leaving him on the side of the pacific coast highway with no cell service.

When they’re finally ushered onto the plane with their survival equipment — two small backpacks with two thin sleeping bags, a handful of simple clothes, a swiss army knife, a book of matches, and a water bottle that’ll no doubt run out too soon in each — River still wants to kill him, and they’ve done nothing but fight, but she’s also holding back from Amy when she tells her that the liability waiver River had to sign absolves her of any culpability if she murders him during the course of the show.

It still might happen, of course. He drives her nuts. But what she doesn’t tell Amy is that she sort of likes him, a bit.

He’s ridiculous and left-of-center and cocky as hell and talks far too much for his own good. But he’s also surprising and delightful and delighted with everything around him, passionate about just about anything he knows a lick about, and he’s smart. Frighteningly smart. She thinks he tries to hide it by talking so much and by putting on all of the tawdry quirks he does so well — the tripping and spinning about, the eccentric speeches, the way he doesn’t seem able to focus even though she knows he doesn’t miss a beat — but she’s spent enough time with him to know that he’s maybe the only person she’s ever met who could give her a run for her money, if he wanted to. Just because she likes him, though, doesn’t mean she’s any nicer to him. She still likes to press his buttons and tease him until he’s red and tugging at his collar, it just means she enjoys it more than she used to.

And when he hops up onto the plane in the casual pants, hiking boots, and long-sleeved thermal shirt they’d provided, she realizes with surprise, he’s also kind of… hot.

Without the tweed and bowtie — although she admits they grew on her — when he flops onto the seat beside her and fixes her with an excited grin, looking at her with those big, hazel eyes from underneath his forelock, she feels a sudden pang of longing go through her. Maybe, she thinks, this is going to be much more fun than she’d thought. He reaches behind him to grab the seat belt and pull it across his lap, but when he tries to fit the buckle together, he can’t quite manage, and they delay take off for a few minutes while he fumbles with the metal before she huffs a sigh and reaches over his lap to do it for him.

Then again, maybe not.

  
  


They’re blindfolded after a certain point of the flight, and manhandled out of the plane and onto some sort of vehicle. River tries to use whatever context clues she can pick up on to help them later, but they do a good job of disorienting them, and she can’t smell anything but the body odor of the man driving the ATV in front of her. Part of her wants to roll her eyes at the thought of seriously trying to figure out where they are, but part of her has always been competitive, and if she’s going to participate in this whole stupid affair, she’s going to at least win.

The Doctor’s seated beside her, bouncing his legs incessantly, and she’s not sure if he’s nervous or excited. She thinks it must be getting dark, because it’s getting colder, and she can’t see the light through the blindfold any longer, and she wishes that she could reach into her pack for a jacket or other layer — she’s not quite sure what they’ve given her — but she was instructed to sit still until they arrived at the site. She shivers a bit, and a moment later she feels the Doctor’s thigh pressing up against the side of hers, and when she doesn’t pull away, he slings an arm over her shoulders and pulls her into him. She thinks about resisting, but when she holds herself still she feels him sigh and can imagine him rolling her eyes, so she doesn’t, just to be unexpected. Instead she relaxes into him, cuddling into his side and wrapping her arms around his thin torso to make the most of his warmth. She feels self-conscious about how much she enjoys it, but then she just reminds herself they’re supposed to pretend to be a couple, anyway. Besides, he doesn’t seem to mind — he just shifts his weight to envelope her in his arms more fully, the hand on her shoulder rubbing up and down as though to warm her by friction.

“Where do you reckon we are?”

“The bloody arctic circle,” she grumbles.

He laughs. “Couldn’t be. Flight was only — what — little over three hours?”

She nods. “Three and a half at the outermost limit. Outside of Vancouver.”

“Possibly,” he agrees. “Could be just about anywhere in the midwest. Three hours will get you to, oh, I don’t know, just off the cuff — Utah, Texas, Nebraska, Montana, Oklahoma, Idaho depending on the route. No further south than Monterey, though.”

“Not necessarily,” she says, “Mexico City only runs you four hours, I’d imagine. So anything in between Monterey and Mexico City can’t be ruled out.”

“No direct flights in between,” the Doctor says. “Adds an extra hour at least. We couldn’t’ve gone past Monterey.”

She thinks for a moment before she has to agree. But also, “you checked the flight listings before we left?”

“Of course,” he says, laughing quietly. She feels the sound rumble through his chest where her head’s resting against it, and it makes her smile.

“That’s cheating.”

“Nah,” he says. “I checked the contracts. We were free to prepare however we wished up until we got to the airport. You should thank me, Song. I could’ve used that time to watch Bear Grylls reruns.”

“Ah, clever boy,” she says. “Unfortunately for you, I spent my time watching reruns of _Naked and Afraid_ , so I’m not sure we’re quite prepared for the same show.”

“You’d be surprised,” he shoots back immediately.

She lets out a startled laugh, and wishes she could pull the blindfold off to see his face. “What, are you flirting with me now?”

“Hush,” he says, “and tell me what you think of the weather.”

He speaks the words low in her ear, and she’d be lying if she said the shiver that traverses her spine has anything to do with the cold. She feels like he’s testing her, seeing how useful she’ll be to him. Part of her resents it, but again, she’s always been one for a bit of competition — and besides that, she has the insane and annoying urge to impress him. Or better, to show him up.

“Definitely not Monterey,” she says. “Outside of Vancouver’s not out. Actually, come to think of it, we’ve got to be in Vancouver.”

“How d’you figure? It’s probably in the thirties, dropping a bit more before it bottoms out for the night; could be most anywhere in the midwest in March, really.”

“Ah, your best friend clearly isn’t a television producer,” she says, smirking. She can feel that the ATV’s slowing down a bit, and assumes they must be nearing their destination, but she’s too busy relishing having the upperhand to pay it much mind. His fingers drum against her arm, like he’s trying to outsmart her in the space of time it takes him to respond, and she half believes he can do it, which, she has to admit, is pretty sexy.

“Actually, she is,” he says. “You met her. Clara.”

“So that’s how you got this gig,” she says. “I guess you don’t listen very well to Clara, then.”

“I do too.”

“Then you must know about tax credits.”

He’s silent for a beat. The ATV stops moving, the engine quieting as the driver steps off, making the silence more dramatic. When the driver tells them they can remove the blindfolds, River takes hers off to find the Doctor already removed his and is staring at her with the broadest grin she’s ever seen on him.

“River Song,” he says, “you are magnificent.”

“Oh, honey,” she responds, fluffing her hair and winking at him over her shoulder as she steps off of the vehicle. “I do know.”

The driver gives them a brief spiel, reminding them of the various waivers, agreements, and disclaimers they’d signed. He gives them a safeword — she nudges the Doctor, giving him her best bedroom eyes, and he flushes so red that she’s almost embarrassed for him — to use, but it’s more of a safe phrase, simple, obvious, and easy to remember: get me out of here. At any point, if they no longer wish to participate, all they have to do is say the phrase and a team will be with them inside of an hour to extract them. If there’s a medical emergency, they both have a phone with a 911 number in their backpacks, but it won’t make any other calls. Then, within a half hour, the driver smirks at them, tells them they started filming since the moment they arrived, hops back on his ATV, and leaves them behind.

 

 

“So, tell me, Doctor,” River says, pacing around the clearing in the woods they’ve been dropped in. The sun is dipping below the horizon, but there’s still enough light to see well enough by. “What’s next?”

He claps his hands together, looking up at her through his hair again, and she grins at the smug look on his face, like he’s getting ready to show off for her — and he doesn’t disappoint. He talks in the broad, loud, silly way he always does when he’s excited, gesturing wildly, practically leaping through the clearing on his bandy legs.

“Well, best guess says we’re somewhere outside of Vancouver, which is good to know, but not altogether helpful, except to keep in mind that it doesn’t generally get below thirty degrees fahrenheit in March up here, so we shouldn’t freeze. Well, not too badly, anyway. And we’re not at any considerable elevation,” he says, taking a deep breath, “because we’d feel it. Ears popping, nose bleeds, et cetera. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you.”

“You don’t.”

“I know I don’t, you clever girl,” he says, leaping close to her to speak the words, and she’s glad for the half-light, because she feels a flush crawling up her neck as he pauses to look her up and down. She’s not sure if he’s toying with her or flirting with her or he’s just genuinely that odd, but she likes all of it, whatever it is. “But it’s good that we’re not, because we won’t have any oxygen-related hang-ups, and we shouldn’t expect it to get too much colder than it is now, or any colder than we’d expect it to be. They wouldn’t have put us far from water, but I can’t hear it, and it’s quite chilly even still, so it’s possible it’s a small source, and it’s frozen, but we have the water bottles to last us the night, yeah?”

“Go on,” she says. He paces away from her again, still gesturing like some sort of mad professor.

"Right, so we’ll worry about that in the morning when it’s light,” he says. “We haven’t got any food, but again, I think we can concern ourselves with that tomorrow. Precipitation isn’t incredibly likely, but I think tonight our first order of business should be clear.”

River nods. At the same time she says, “cameras —”

— he says, “shelter!” Then, “sorry, _what_?”

“The cameras, honey,” River says. “I want to know where they are.”

He squints at her, and she’s startled to find that she’s fairly certain what he’s about to say before he even says it, so she just interrupts, waving off his confused expression with her hand.

“It’s not vanity,” River says, “although maybe a bit. Mostly, it’s if we need the safe word. Want to be sure we know we’re in range of the microphones. Or in case of emergency, if we can’t access the mobile phones, we’ll want to be seen, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright,” the Doctor agrees, shrugging. They both take off their backpacks and drop them on the ground, but before he can turn away from her to start looking for cameras on his own, she steps up into his space, close enough to touch, but careful not to.

“Alternatively,” she says, “we might want to know how to avoid the cameras, if necessary.”

“Why would we do that?”

“In case we want some privacy.”

“Why would we -- oh.”

He turns bright red, which instantly muddies her earlier impression that he’d been flirting with her. That was barely an innuendo, by her standards, so she couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if she made a truly crude remark, or made a move. But instead of feeling embarrassed -- which was very unlike her, and she told herself that it was because she knew they were on camera -- she just walked up to him and threw her arm over his shoulder, tugging him into her as she set out into the woods.

“We’re meant to be a couple, remember?”

“Right,” he says, “right. We should’ve -- you know -- discussed it more before we were on camera.”

“Keep your voice down, sweetie. Shall we set parameters?”

“Sure,” he says, “sounds like an excellent idea. We should definitely flirt.”

Maybe he was flirting with her, then, River thought. Close on the heels of that buoying thought though is the remembrance that he might just be pretending to flirt with her.

“Yes,” River agrees, “but you should try not to blush. Kissing?

He scratches his cheek nervously. “I suppose.”

“Don’t sound so keen,” she says, pausing once she feels like they’ve strayed far enough from their original clearing to be at least out of aesthetically pleasing view, although she imagines they can still be heard. That’s what editing is for, though. “You’re going to have to learn to feign a little enthusiasm if we’re going to be convincing.”

He laughs nervously. “It’s not that.”

She decides not to question him and presses onward. “Tongue?”

He practically swallows his. “ _What_?”

She laughs at him. “Honestly, Amy didn’t set me up with a virgin, did she?”

“ _No_ ,” he says, and she can see him puffing up his chest even in the dark, so she smothers another laugh. “This just isn’t -- _usual_ conversation.”

“We’ll do it rapid fire then. Tongue or no tongue?”

“Whatever… seems… _appropriate.”_

 _“_ Separate sleeping bags or zip them together?”

“Separate, unless it gets too cold.”

“Very practical. Hand-holding?”

“Sure.”

“Generally cuddling?”

“I’m pro-cuddle.”

“Alright,” River says, nodding. She holds her hand out for a shake. His hand is ridiculously warm when he grabs hers, and he quickly reaches his other hand up to clasp hers in both of his. “Let the games begin.”

He snorts. “One question.”

“Shoot.”

“What are your boundaries?”

“Oh, honey,” River says, stepping into his personal space, their hands still clasped. “I don’t have any.”

The look on his face consoles her about the separate sleeping bag arrangement considerably.

  



End file.
